


Confession

by Chancesin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 04:03:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6140929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chancesin/pseuds/Chancesin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's raining and Dean's eating candy corn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confession

It's midnight, it's raining and Dean is stretched out across the front seat of the Impala with Sam struggling to get comfortable in the back. They are parked somewhere in Divide County, North Dakota.

Which might be a scenic place. Dean can't really tell, what with the storm streaming down the windshield and all. At least he's had the good sense to stock up on provisions.

Candy corn and coffee. Never gets old.

The fact that his boots, jeans and goddamn jacket are a sodden pile on the floor definitely leans more on the con side of things.

Using the whole blankets-in-the-dark mood to pry into Sammy's head on the other hand always goes down in Dean's book as more of a pro. Some people think he's the one with sharing issues. Those people are wrong.

'Amelia,' he ventures. Because hitting a sore spot just isn't the way to start off with Sammy.

'Compensating,' he adds with a wink that Sam probably can't see in the dark, 'because you missed me.'

'Funny, Dean,' Sam replies, but by his tone Dean can tell he's not even smiling.

'So at least her dog? That would be lifelong.'

It's kind of meant to be funny again. Or comforting. Sam once adopted a stray, when they spent the summer outside of Billings, Montana. At least that's what Dean had thought until the owners showed up.

Nice people, though. They had let Sam keep walking the thing well into August. And then Dad was back and they were moving and Sam had been in a rut until Christmas.

Ok, so maybe bringing up the dog wasn't his best idea ever. Anyways, Sam just mumbles something into his coffee that's hard to hear over the rain, and then Dean vaguely sees him put down his thermos and turn over.

The thing is that, what with living in the bunker with bedrooms and all, Dean is kind of out of practice with this whole coaxing Sam routine.

Sure, they spend their fair share of time together. And then some.

But these days, usually they're doing stuff. Like having a beer and watching Game of Thrones, or that creepy ass Scully series that Sam likes. Sometimes Dean even makes hot chocolate when he's in the mood. Or chai latte, which sounds all kinds of hipster but tastes like Thanksgiving and Christmas all rolled into one so what's not to like.

Anyhow, the point being that although they spend time together it's usually not like this anymore. Not cramped and dark with nothing to entertain them but the sound of rain drumming on the roof.

It's narrow and familiar and when mixed in with the candy corn, sort of makes up for the fact that he's in his boxers underneath the world's scratchiest wool blanket.

That being said, he's not so crazy about the slightly damp leather against his skin either.

What with two coffees and a respectable sugar intake, he doubts he'll be able to fall asleep anytime soon. Clearly, he's getting soft from privileged living.

Figures, he should probably try Sam again before he beats him to Lala land.

So he opens with a guess of Stanford this time and then puts her name into the dark.

'Jess.'

It takes a while before Sam replies.

But even over the drumming rain it's pretty unmistakable.

'No.'

No.

To Jessica.

So, that's news to Dean. Big news, actually.

'Then earlier?' he asks, and tries to rake his mind for persons of interest in Sammy's past. Which is hard. He's barely through second grade and Holly Avery when Sam's simple reply souds again.

'No.'

No. So not before Jess. And that's interesting because after Stanford, they've pretty much been glued together.

Not counting the odd trip down South.

'So it's someone I know?'

Dean supposes it has to be. Sam may be secretive but to forge something like that in secret would be extreme even for him.

'You could say that,' Sam confirms.

It takes Dean all of no time to come up with his first suggestion.

'Sarah,' he guesses. Smart, curvy Sarah.

But Sam just says, 'No.'

So he moves on to the fierce and scared one. 'Madison.'

Yet Sam simply says no. Again.

And that's really interestig, because those two run the gamut of Dean's list of possible suspects.

'Gotta give me something to work with here, Sammy,' he tries and is rewarded by Sam tossing something at him which, after he picks it off the dashboard, turns out to be one of those too good for regular candy bars Sam carries around basically always.

'Dude, gross,' he protests. But it actually tastes like that homemade fudge Dean picked up a couple of months ago outside of Del Rio, Texas. At a hardware store of all places. He got cartridges there too because not all monsters in Del Rio were supernatural.

'It's not a hunter?' he asks, but it comes out sort of muffled because apparently Sam's freakily delicious health fudge is dry as fuck. He downs it with some cold coffee and then clears his voice before trying again. 'Is it a hunter?'

This time, Sam does not protest.

'Hunter chick, huh.'

Dean can't really imagine who though.

God forbid it's Charlie or someone equally sisterly. Or motherly, come to think of it.

He's about to conjure up some truly disturbing Sam and Jody imagery when Sam's resonant voice in the darkness answers, 'Not so much.'

Not so much what? Not so much a hunter chick?

Which leads Dean to rewind a couple of minutes to the tune of more health fudge and coffee before realising just what Sam is actually telling him.

'Dude,' he bursts out, almost spilling his coffee in the process. 'Sammy, it's a hunter dude?'

There's a slight delay and then Sam answers from the backseat, 'Yeah.'

Which is all kinds of not how Dean saw this conversation going. So, he has to ask the million dollar question here.

'Good one?'

'The best,' Sam says.

Which actually hits Dean a bit from two angles.

'Making me jealous, Sammy. Thought I was the best.'

And then Sam, with no more fanfare than a slight increase in the rain, whips up the million dollar answer.

'You are.'


End file.
